


Fair is foul and foul is fair

by Renfields_Spider



Category: Downton Abbey
Genre: Eventual Romance, Friends to Lovers, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-14
Updated: 2017-06-23
Packaged: 2018-10-18 18:58:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,804
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10623093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Renfields_Spider/pseuds/Renfields_Spider
Summary: Post Season 3: What if Jimmy didn't leave Downton and he and Thomas are left to develop their friendship? Would anything different happen or is it doomed from the start? Enquiring minds want to know!





	1. Chapter 1

The scar had healed, a central white mass spiralling out into faint, white whispers of tissue. It was ugly and it insulted him every morning: this is your medal, coward. Every day he covered it up and went about his business until night, when it insulted him again. If he viewed it as something separate from himself, then it wasn’t his deed or act that created it. In the summer, it itched and chafed; in the winter, the chill made it ache to the bone. The cold reminded him of the numbness he felt before and still felt now on occasion. Today was not one of those occasions.

Peering out from under the brim of his hat, Thomas watched as the coffin lowered and the priest uttered Latin. He had no idea what the words meant, but that didn’t matter: God was no friend of his. The rain was summery and light, it speckled his suit with watery glitter. He made no attempt to hide the tears he felt join the rain on his face. Unlike Mary, who stood stoically throughout the ceremony, not one tear shed. People would say later that she was unfeeling, cold, but Thomas had seen enough of death to know different. She had not accepted it yet. He felt for her, he wished he could delay reality a little longer, but he’d always run hot under the surface of his calm.

A warm hand touched his for a moment and Thomas looked to see Anna beside him. He’d forgotten she was standing there, Bates on her other side. She met his eyes briefly and the pain she felt, evident. Thomas rested the back of his hand against hers momentarily as words gave little comfort. Anna was one of the few who saw through him, and despite everything, she was still kind to him. Anna had known Crawley well and had thrown herself into helping Lady Mary. Her grief, put on hold, manifested itself now. He pulled out his clean handkerchief and waited until she was able to accept it. Bates nodded in Thomas' direction. The day had been like Mr Crawley’s death, brutal; if only it were as quick, he couldn’t help thinking.

When Thomas had declared that he wanted to attend the funeral, to pay his respects, Mr Carson had forbidden it. He believed that ‘under current circumstances, the injuries you’ve acquired might cause even more distress to the family’. Anna had spoken up for him, but Carson had shut her down. His was the last word. Except, the next morning Bates had come up to see him in his bedroom, and told him it was fine to attend. How he’d hated Bates and yet Bates still helped him, god knows why. He’d obviously had a word with Lord Grantham on Thomas’ behalf. Now he owed Bates. Again.

When the funeral was over the guests would make their way back to Downton and Thomas would be expected to wait on them. He wasn’t looking forward to it. He hung back from the others as they departed and walked past the Crawley grave. He came to a standstill at Lady Sybil’s grave and stood for a moment. He took off his glove and touched the wet stone. It was when he thought of her kindness, that he really felt her death. That drab stone really didn’t do her justice. It depressed him to think that in a hundred years, it would just be a name, nothing more. And he would be even less.

The mood in Downton hung darkly, nothing to see, everything felt. The only brightness in Thomas’ days was that Jimmy didn’t look at him with disgust anymore. It was a tentative start and he was grateful for it. He was careful at first, because the last thing he wanted to do was offend Jimmy again, or worse set tongues wagging. It was awful, people knowing, looking at him, and judging. He tried to hold his head up, weather it through, but at night, he felt the same as he always had, isolated. The problem for him was, it didn’t feel wrong, feeling the way he did. It felt right. He desperately wished he could take back kissing Jimmy, the looks of repulsion at that time, turned his stomach upon reflection. How the day he’d been beaten had lifted him, despite the pain, at first. A bittersweet day.

Now the days were filled with trays of uneaten food being passed around. Mary had understood the finality eventually. Branson had surprised them all by being, ‘An absolute bloody rock,’ he’d overheard Lord Grantham saying. Branson had picked up the Estate management where Mr Crawley had let off and took some of the burden. Unfortunately, Branson did not have the education to back him up and Thomas overheard a conversation about drafting in help. Thomas didn’t like the sound of a load of new people hanging around. However, he duly reported his findings at dinner with some delight at being the first to tell it.

‘I heard his Lordship is looking to hire some people to help Mr Branson with the estate,’ He says.

‘Really, why’s that, Mr Barrow?’ O’Brien asks.

‘I should imagine one man cannot do it alone, Miss O’Brien,’ Carson answers.

‘From what I heard, they’re looking for a few people. Not local either, from all over,’ Thomas adds.

‘It is not for us to wonder, Mr Barrow,’ Carson says.

‘I thought you of all people would want to know about replacements, Mr Carson,’ Thomas says.

‘And what exactly do you infer with that statement?’ Carson looks directly at him and Thomas knows a lecture is coming.

‘I just thought you’d want to be kept appraised.’

‘If his Lordship thinks I should be aware of something he will inform me in due course. Gossiping only causes confusion and conflict, something of which you are quite well informed of I gather, Mr Barrow,’ Carson glares over his plate until Thomas looks down.

‘He is right thought,’ says Bates with a glint in his eye. ‘Lord Grantham is planning a few lunches to find a suitable candidate to work with Branson.’ When Carson glares, Bates adds, ‘unofficially, of course’.

Thomas isn’t exactly sure when the uneasy truce between Bates and himself was erected, but Thomas starts to find Bates’ wry wit amusing when it’s not aimed at him. It were even funnier when later that night Lord Grantham came down to inform Carson of the extra people staying in the coming weeks. Thomas deliberately lingered by the door to listen, smiling at Carson’s silent fury. The smirk was wiped off his face when Mary was mentioned and he sloped off, not wanting to hear the grief in their voices.

Thomas rose early the next day, as was his habit. The mirror was kinder to him and reflected only a few patches of yellow dotted with khaki green mottling. He wished it were the same story for his midsection, but luckily, Carson had him on light duties. Next week it would be back to normal, all heart is Carson. He has breakfast and makes his way up to the dining room to set out for the family. After, he leaves to inform Lord Grantham breakfast is ready. As he approaches the study he hears raised voices, he slows, lingering to overhear.

‘I do not think it is appropriate at this time.’

‘I am sorry that you think the timing is unfortunate, Lord Grantham, but nothing about these circumstances changes the very real facts.’

‘The facts can wait another week or two. I cannot have Mary, Cora or Mrs Crawley, or anyone really, knowing about this, it’s just too abhorrent.’

‘If I did not think it was important I would not mention it. I promise you; I will endeavour to be discrete in this matter.’

‘That does not change the fact that you acted without speaking to me first, Murray.’

‘I simply made a few inquiries where I left off previously. I assure you, I hope that it never happens, but we hoped that with Patrick and Matthew before him. Surely you understand the necessity?’

‘I understand it but I don’t have to bloody well like it do I?’

‘No, Lord Grantham.’

‘I am sorry, Murray, I do not mean to berate you.’

 ‘It is a difficult matter; I would think there was something amiss if you didn’t feel incensed.’

‘Incensed? No. Aggrieved, yes. One should not have to discuss the likelihood of death of one so young.’

‘I take it I can continue with my search?’

A long pause; Thomas strained to hear.

‘Yes, you may continue to search the Crawley bloodline for the next in line to Matthew, God help us.’

‘Thank you. I will be in touch.’

At the sound of approaching footsteps Thomas strides into the room, confidently.

‘Breakfast is ready, my Lord.’

‘Thank you, Thomas. Mr Murray was just leaving.’

Thomas escorts Mr Murray out and pondered what was said. He wanted to be the first to tell what he heard, but he held it in for the time being. Somehow, it didn’t seem right to blab about it. These things had a way of making their own way out. And even he had his limits.

After serving, Thomas descended downstairs to hear some of the staff in the servant’s hall. Again he slowed to hear what was said, but it was only Daisy harping on about some flick her and Ivy were going to see on their half day. Not being remotely interested in their wittering, Thomas moved swiftly into Mr Carson’s office.

‘Ah, there you are, Thomas. His Lordship has informed me that there will be visitors for today’s luncheon, but you will have to serve it without me. I have an appointment.’

‘Of course, Mr Carson. Do we know how many are attending?’

‘Four, I believe. Please make sure that James’ livery is up to scratch. Yesterday, it was not.’

‘Yes, Mr Carson.’

‘Be off with you, then.’

Thomas turned obediently and closed the door behind him. He’d long thought Carson had been born starched. The man did not waver for a second. He hoped to one day have Carson’s job, but he knew the old codger would probably outlive him. He popped his head into the servant’s hall looking for Jimmy, but he wasn’t there. So, he went out the back, popping a cigarette into his mouth as he walked.

A cigarette glowed from the dark arch where Thomas liked to smoke and he could see O’Brien had beaten him to it. Not wanting to stand and smoke with her he turned his back and smoked near the door.

‘You can have a smoke with me if you like, Thomas. I’ll not bite,’ O’Brien invites.

‘It’s not the bite I’m worried about,’ Thomas says, taking two deep drags from his cigarette and throwing it to the ground to hiss in a puddle, ‘the barks painful enough.’

He walks back into the house smirking to himself, so she wanted back into his good books, how unlikely. There must be something she wants, something she thinks he can do for her. He would need to keep a closer eye on her. He spots Jimmy on his way through to the hall and stops him. Any interaction with him made Thomas smile, a genuine mask-cracking grin.

'Jimmy, I was looking for you.'

'What have I done now,' he looks defensive and then quickly adds, 'Mr Barrow'.

'Nothing, just that Mr Carson made a comment about your livery.'

'Yes, I have a frayed edge and a mark on one cuff'.

'Do you need any help?'

'Yes please, if you don't mind Mr Barrow. I struggle with sewing.'

'Fetch it then; we'll have a look now and see what we can do'.

...

The thought of it still made him uncomfortable. He remembered the dark, the soft comfort of sleep and then the gently applied pressure on his lips. It woke him in more than one way; parts of him had stirred quicker from sleep than others. It was that which disgusted him the most, his physical response to being kissed. Of course, once the stark truth was revealed, he felt violated. Barrow was a pervert, plain and simple. Except, it wasn't that simple was it. After being egged on by O’Brien, he'd thought Barrow would leave, but he'd been stuck with him.

What he didn’t understand was why Barrow continued to look out for him. Jimmy had kept his distance from the under butler wherever he could, he didn’t want Barrow anywhere near him, lest anyone mistake their interaction. Yet, Barrow never told him off unduly, predominantly took his side in things, and was always polite. Alfred had told him how Barrow continued to defend his good name and wouldn’t let a bad word be said about him. At the fair, Barrow had watched him, followed him, and then protected him. Put himself in harm’s way for what? Jimmy didn’t ever have a kind word for him. Jimmy had sat for a long time out the back alone considering these things, especially as now he had agreed to be friends. How could he not? He remembered the smile on Barrows face and Jimmy knew he’d done the right thing. Nevertheless, the other things about Barrow did linger in his mind, no matter how hard he tried to bury it.

To another degree, it was hard not to take advantage of Barrow. Jimmy knew he would offer to help him with the sewing of his livery. He was sure Barrow would have done it for him if he’d asked. Having the under butler on his side was an advantage he couldn’t ignore. Perhaps he would come to relax in Barrow’s company eventually; maybe they could be friends, if he could shake that feeling of discomfort around him.

Jimmy took his livery out of the wardrobe, grabbed the sewing box, and went to the servant’s hall. Barrow has waited for him and he is sat smoking with a cup of tea beside him.

‘There you are, Jimmy, I was beginning to think you’d gotten lost.’

‘Sorry, Mr Barrow, I couldn’t find the sewing box.’

‘Well, let’s have a look shall we,’ Barrow reached across the table for Jimmy’s jacket.

Jimmy handed it over and walked around the table to sit next to him. Jimmy tried not to think about how close he is to Thomas, but at the same time, hoped he didn’t show his discomfort. He soon forgot about it though, as Barrow makes a joke and sets him at ease. Soon, Jimmy is repairing his coat in a competent way and is glad that Barrow offered to help.

‘It’s all very cosy in here, isn’t it?’ O’Brien smirks from the other side of the room.

‘Warm enough till that chill blew in. Did you feel it Jimmy?’

‘Aye, I did Mr Barrow.’

‘It’s nice to see you both getting on, all friendly like,’ O’Brien sits at the table with her own darning. ‘I think it’s nice, is all.’

Jimmy felt the discomfort arise and suddenly Barrow was too close, but he daren’t move lest he give O’Brien any satisfaction. Instead, he showed his work to Thomas who smiled a little and nodded encouragement to carry on. Then Barrow sat back away from him, creating the space Jimmy felt he needed. While he worked he felt O’Brien’s eyes on him intermittently. When she left Jimmy breathed out a sigh of relief that had Barrow chuckling.

‘I don’t know why you’re laughing; she is such a b-’

‘Now, Jimmy, whatever Miss O’Brien is she is still your superior. You don’t want Mr Carson or Mrs Hughes to overhear you using that word,’ Thomas smiled and leaned in conspiratorially, ‘even if you are right.’ Jimmy liked the way Barrow opened up to him; the expression of his face was softer and somehow more genuine.

‘She’s been really friendly to me all week.’

Barrow looks round sharply at Jimmy, ‘Has she? Saying what, exactly?’

‘Nothing in particular, “You look smart today” that sort of thing’.

Thomas looked back as the space O’Brien had vacated and rolled his cigarette in his fingers thoughtfully. His expression hardened, the smile dropped away and Jimmy got the distinct impression Barrow’s thoughts were far away from the now. He continued to sew silently letting Barrow think. Jimmy had known for a long time now that O’Brien’s motives for things could sometimes be suspect and clearly that’s what had Thomas thinking. She wouldn’t be able to pull the wool over his eyes again, Barrow’s actions had spoken well for him, and Jimmy thought it would be hard to convince him otherwise now. He finished the sewing and passed it over for inspection.

‘Very good, Jimmy. Stitches are small and strong, keep practising and you’ll get quicker.’

‘Thanks,’ Jimmy paused from a moment and then adds, ‘Mr Barrow?’

‘Yes, Jimmy?’

‘If I have trouble with something in the future, can I come to you for help?’

Thomas’ face lit up, ‘Of course you can, Jimmy, I’d be glad of it.’

‘Well, I best go press this,’ Jimmy said holding up his jacket, ‘Otherwise Mr Carson will have something else to complain about.’

‘Yes, he will,’ rumbled Carson from the doorway of the hall. Jimmy looks up quickly and then scurries out of the hall without another word.

...

A few days later a disgruntled and unhappy Murray leaves a house in London. The door closes sharply and an older man, whose good clothes had frayed, sits down by the fireside holding an opened letter in him hand.

A young man, mid-twenties, enters the room.

‘Is everything all right, Mr Mayhew, I heard the door shut but I wasn’t summoned?’

‘Yes, it’s fine. You’re not my butler; I don’t expect you to see people out.’

‘I don’t mind.’

‘I know.’

‘Is there anything I can get you?’

‘Yes, I want writing paper and a pen. I can’t face getting up for the writing desk.’

The younger man leaves the room and the elder throws the letter he was holding into the fire. The name John Crawley lights up from the flame behind the paper and then blackens as it burns. The man comes back with everything that was asked of him and sets it down on the elder man’s lap.

‘Anything else?’

The older man pauses but says, ‘No thank you, John.’


	2. Chapter 2

The clocks rhythmic ticking was reassuring and soothing. Jimmy opened the front and inserted the key to wind the mechanism. He thought back to what Barrow instructed him to do, to wind it firmly, feel the resistance then stop or risk damaging the inner workings. The memory also brought with it that same sense of being too close for comfort and shame. He’d been feeling that a lot lately. Just the action of winding the clock had him wishing he could do the same with time, just turn it back a little. He would change things for the better, make it clear to Barrow from the off, how things were placed. Of course, he could change other things too, like stopping Thomas being beaten or Mr Crawley from dying. Six weeks after his death, Mr Crawley was still ever-present. Wishing was for fools and no matter how much he wanted things to be one way, they were as they are, period.

‘James, whatever are you doing just standing there? Wind the clocks and move along, or I’ll give the job back to Mr Barrow.’

‘Yes, Mr Carson.’

Snapped impolitely out of his thoughts Jimmy hurried along to the next room and the next set of clocks. The truth was he could get a lot out of his friendship with Barrow, but he wasn’t exactly sure what Barrow got out of it. It was Thomas’ motivation that Jimmy struggled with, because something was scratching around in that skull of his, and he couldn’t quite put his finger on it. Whenever he thought about ‘that night’, he’d go red in the face and that discomfort arose. Perhaps Barrow was just generous with his time. It wasn’t even that Jimmy thought Barrow was living in hope, because the man had made no effort to repeat ‘that night’ or any of that lingering touching stuff. So what then?

‘Are you alright there, Jimmy?’

Jimmy jumped and turned to see Barrow standing near the doorway. ‘Yes, Mr Barrow.’

‘Need help?’ Barrow smiled ever so slightly and lifted his bad hand to point at the clock Jimmy had been standing in front of.

‘No, Mr Barrow, I think I’ve got the knack of it.’

‘Are you sure? You seem to be giving it a great deal of thought.’

‘I have some things on my mind. I’m sorry, I’ll do it better.’

Concern clouds Barrows face and he walked further into the room to stand next to Jimmy. ‘Has something happened, Jimmy?’

‘No, nothing’s happened, it’s just...’ Jimmy trails off, not really knowing how to phrase what he wanted to know. He doesn’t want to re-tread old ground with Barrow, not now, when things are right between them. He feels a fool to bring it up again.

‘Whatever it is, Jimmy, I promise I’ll do what I can to help you.’ He notices Barrow raised his hand, as if he was going to pat him on the shoulder, but stops himself. This somehow makes Jimmy feel worse, because it was obvious that Barrow second-guessed his every action toward him.

‘It’s nothing, please don’t concern yourself with it, Mr Barrow,’ he says, opening the case for the clock in front of him. He couldn’t bear to look at Barrow while he looked so worried, not when all he’d been thinking about were unkind things about him.

‘If you’re sure?’

‘I am.’

Barrow left the room leaving Jimmy to his winding. He was now seriously behind and needed to work double-time to catch up. In the library, he quickly moved to each timepiece, not that there were many. The last one, on top of the mantelpiece, was a struggle to fit in the key at first, but then slowly began to wind. His thoughts drifted again, he now thought maybe he’d offended Barrow by not speaking to him. Perhaps he could make something up to satisfy Barrow’s curiosity and make sure he was in his good books. The clock he was working on suddenly stuck and he couldn’t wind it any more. Panicked, Jimmy pulled the key out and put it back in again, trying to see if he could get any more movement. None. He pulled out the key and closed the facia. Jimmy envisioned himself walking away from Downton carrying his case and no reference in his hand. No choice, he would absolutely have to ask Barrow for help.

Jimmy made his way downstairs and looked into the hall: no Barrow. He checked the kitchen, the yard and even Mr Carson’s room, Barrow is suddenly nowhere to be found. He made sure to put back the winding key for now, and hoped that he spots Barrow before anyone noticeed the clock isn’t working.

‘What are you looking so fretted about?’ O’Brien observed from the lingering position she had by the door to the hall.

‘Nothing.’ He straightened his waistcoat and ignored her stare.

‘Well, nothing looks mighty troubling these days then,’ she said still appraising.

‘I guess it does.’ Jimmy would no more admit his error to that old lizard than he would Carson.

‘If you’re looking for Mr Carson, he’s upstairs,’ she offered.

‘I’m not; I’m trying to find Mr Barrow.’

‘Oh, it’s Thomas who has you so flustered is it? He’s up top too.’

‘Thank you, Miss O’Brien.’

‘Ah, James, there you are. I have the silverware I need you and Alfred to clean, if you’d like to follow me.’

Jimmy looked at him despairingly, ‘Yes, Mr Carson,’ and followed him to the job in hand. He hoped he would be able to find Barrow later. The longer he left it, the more likely his mistake would be found. Time was running out, so to speak.

...

John stood on the Ripon platform holding a small leather paper case. It had been two weeks since Mayhew had died. The funeral had been quick and so had the will reading. Mayhew’s extended family were desperate to get hold of the house, except, he’d left it to John. They were furious, enraged. They threatened all sorts nasty legal threats, none of which they would be able to carry out. The house had been John’s fathers and when he’d died, his mothers, she had married Mr Mayhew, and when she had died, it became Mayhew’s. The house was his, fair and square. The reason, not only because it was his, but also because John had stayed to help Mayhew in his illness, while his natural children had stayed away. Let them fight, he’d thought.

However, he had to sort out Mayhew’s belongings, papers etc. They were demanding all that paraphernalia, which he supposed they had a right to. It was when he’d been sorting it all out, he’d found the opened envelopes addressed to him. There were no letters inside to give him a clue, no return address. What he did find in the fire grating was the tail end of a letter and a name, the Earl of Grantham. He’d left it at first, asked questions of Mayhew’s solicitor, who knew nothing and had then decided to do his own investigating. He discovered where the Earl of Grantham lived and so he wrote several letters, each of them sounded awful so he binned them and tried again. It was after some days of this, he first started thinking about actually making an appointment to see the Earl. He’d never done anything particularly spontaneous in his life, yet he found himself packing an overnight bag and his papers.

So, here he was doing the most ridiculous thing, idiotic really. He caught a glimpse of himself glass of the ticket office and he took a moment to straighten his hat. Oh yes, he looked like a lunatic too. He shook his head at the reflection and walked squarely into a young woman waiting on the platform.

‘Oh gosh, excuse me, didn’t see you there Miss,’ John took off his hat as he apologises, gripping it in embarrassment.

‘Don’t worry, there’s no harm done. Although, I should say perhaps you’d like to set your hat straight before you start walking this time.’ It could have been quite the sarcastic comment, except, the young woman who’d said it was smiling so brightly and had such a teasing air, John couldn’t help but smile back. He put the hat back on his head, straightened it, and looked back at the woman.

‘Very fetching.’

John nodded and walked away, leaving his embarrassment behind. He walked into Ripon and looked for a carriage to take him to Downton Abbey. He nearly walked out in front of a car, which honked at him. John looked up to see the young woman on the platform sitting with a much younger woman in the car. The younger one was excitedly chatting, blonde curls bobbing around her face, she was clearly happy to arrive. They zoomed past and John continued to look for some sort of transport.

...

‘Have you made the bed up and aired the room like I asked?’

‘Yes, Mrs Hughes.’

‘Thank you, Mabel. Oh don’t forget to check the fire.’

‘I already stoked it and checked the flue.’

‘Good, you can go and help the others prepare now.’

‘Yes, Mrs Hughes.’

Thomas looked up from his paper to address Mrs Hughes, ‘She’s got her mind in the right place.’

Mrs Hughes stared at him for a moment, ‘Well, yes. We were bound to get lucky at some point.’

‘I’d say she were quite independent.’

‘As long as she independent in the right way, I’ll have no argument with her.’

‘Of course.’

Thomas looked back down to read again.

‘Are you alright, Thomas?’

He looked up at Mrs Hughes, pulled a smile that he didn’t quite feel and said, ‘Of course, Mrs Hughes, why wouldn’t I be?’

‘Well, you look like someone’s just took your birthday away.’

‘The secret is I don’t tell anyone when my birthday is except Mr Carson,’ he deflected.

‘That may be, but you’ve been reading the same page of that paper for half an hour and I’m sure it can’t be that interesting.’ She holds her hands in front of her and waits, just looked at him with a twinkle in her eye.

Thomas peers round her to make sure they are alone; he wouldn’t want Carson, or worse, O’Brien overhearing what he had to say. His action prompts her to do the same and she then sits down in the seat next to him.

‘I’m worried about Jimmy,’ on seeing Mrs Hughes eyebrow raise he adds, ‘it's not like that.’

‘I’m sure I don’t know what you mean,’ she looked behind her again, ‘continue, Mr Barrow.’

‘He’s acting like something is troubling but when I ask him, he won’t answer.’

‘Do you think it’s serious?’

‘It were enough to have him distracted this morning. Carson, sorry, Mr Carson, sent me up to check on Jimmy because he was running slow. I found him staring into space.’

‘Perhaps he has a girl on his mind?

Thomas flinched, just for a second, but long enough to let Mrs Hughes know he hadn’t even considered that option. Of course he hadn’t, why would he? She looked at him sympathetically.

‘Perhaps that’s why he doesn’t want to say, you are... his superior after all.’

‘Yes, you are probably right, Mrs Hughes, I shouldn’t have involved myself.’

Thomas stood and picked up his packet of cigarettes, pulled one out, but decided to go outside and smoke it.

‘Don’t forget, Thomas, Rose will be arriving soon. You’ll need to be on parade outside with the rest of the staff.’ The pitying look stayed on her face.

‘I know, Mrs Hughes, I’ll not miss it... promise.’ He pulled up another false smile and headed for the back door.

Thomas stood in his little alcove and lit his cigarette. He thought he was over this, past it. He knew that Jimmy was in his own words ‘a proper little ladies man’ and yet... The rejection still stung, even as friends, even now. Nobody knew how much going to Jimmy that night had cost him. The fear he’d felt had him shaking. He’d paced his room for a long time trying to figure whether going was the right thing. No, he knew it wasn’t right, but it was what he wanted. He wanted Jimmy to feel the same for him. It was, however, what O’Brien had said that haunted him. He cursed himself repeatedly for ever believing what that woman said. Except, he had wanted to believe it. Good sense flew out the window; if there was the smallest of chances, he might not be alone.

He rubbed at his hand, as the cold had started to seep in and make it ache. He stood quietly and smoked. The burn of the deep lungful of smoke he took did nothing to alleviate the heaviness he felt there. It had rained earlier in the day and puddles dotted the back yard, the largest spread out in front of him, reflecting back his sullen, pale face. He knew he needed to harden himself to Jimmy, toughen up, but whenever Jimmy asked anything of him, he fell over himself to help out. It was bloody sickening. Nothing would change; he knew himself.

Thomas threw the cigarette to the floor and crushed it underfoot, moved out of his hidey-hole and inside the house. He saw that everyone was being ushered upstairs to greet their newest resident, so Thomas joined them. He saw Jimmy out of the corner of his eye, but instead of acknowledging him, Thomas looked forward. Once outside, they lined up and other than a nod when he caught eyes with Jimmy, Thomas did nothing. He wasn’t trying to be cruel or unfriendly he just needed time.

...

The house looked abysmally drab, as always, but this time there was such a sense of freedom. This time she had escaped the echelons of her family and had started out afresh with the Crawleys. As long as they didn’t hold that silliness in London against her. Well, if she were able to forgive them for tattletaling on her, they could bally well forgive her for running off to a club. At least the clouds had cleared; it had looked like it was going to rain, but, hallelujah, some sun. Oh, she so did want to have a long walk around the grounds, without being cold or rained on, what a change! To think that mother and father were going to be sweating out in India while she got to come out this season was just thrilling!

Rose saw the staff had all lined up outside along with the family, they were treating her as an adult and giving her respect. It was almost too much. After a lot of kissing and handshaking, she was ushered in and allowed to go and change out of her travelling clothes. There were mentions of dinners, balls and charity events, but also boring stuff like sewing and reading. Upstairs, her room was smaller than she was used to, but that didn’t matter. Anything was better than a remote castle miles away from anyone or anything.

‘Would you like me to start unpacking now my lady or what till you are changed?’

‘Let’s change now shall we; I am desperate to freshen up. What is your name?’

‘Mabel, my lady.’

‘Well, let’s get on with it then, Mabel.’

The maid wasn’t what she was used to, but the maid she’d had before was unable to leave Scotland. Lord Grantham had offered to employ a new maid for Rose and she could see she’d need a little work. A wee bit starchy, but she’d be buying her cigarettes in no time. After half an hour of trying to decide what to wear, Rose picked something light and floaty, with shimmering beads. She wasn’t happy, however, because the maid was bloody useless with her hair. She had to ask one of the other girls for help. Rose was also cross because Mabel had flat out refused to get her cigarettes, thinking that she might get into trouble because of it. Well, it was damn selfish if you asked her.

The dinner went well but was a little dour because of the mention of Matthew Crawley. It was awfully sad that he died leaving Mary with the baby. The house was in full mourning still and Rose had forgotten. Matthew had helped her before, he was dreadfully nice about the misunderstanding and now he was dead. She felt rather stupid to be sitting there in her bright dress when everyone else was wearing black. Mary made a couple of comments over dinner about the black, but Cora saved her by adding that you shouldn’t wear black if you didn’t have too. It marked her out as different, a stranger who had nothing to do with the family. It made her feel unwanted and all of a sudden, she wanted to be out of that dining room.

As soon as she could, she made her excuses to escape upstairs, but she was dying for a cigarette. She still didn’t have any. The servants were bound to smoke, but it was finding the right one.

‘Are you lost m’lady?’

Rose spun around, fixing her best, brightest smile upon the young footman in front of her. ‘I am a little actually, er...’

‘Alfred, m’lady.’

‘Alfred,’ she smiled up at him, he was ever so tall, ‘I’m looking for some ciggies, and I don’t suppose you know where they are kept do you?

‘I am sorry, I don’t m’lady.’

Rose’s face fell for a moment, ‘Oh well I guess I’ll have to go without, thank you anyway.’

She walked along as if she was heading in the direction of her room until Alfred was completely out of sight. Then she headed down to where the servants resided, except she walked straight into the butler, who apologised immediately.

‘I am sorry Lady Rose, I didn’t see you there,’ he paused and noticed where she was, ‘should you be down here Lady Rose?’

She pulled on her charming smile again, fluttered her lashes, ‘Oh I am sorry, er... ?’

‘Barrow.’

‘Sorry, Barrow, I have been looking for a maid.’ Her smile faltered, just a little, when Thomas narrowed his eyes, clearly suspecting her lie.

‘You only had to ring the bell, Lady Rose, and a maid would come.’

‘Yes, I know that it’s just... well...’ She struggled dare she ask the butler?

‘You need something in particular?’

Rose looked relieved, ‘Yes, that’s it exactly.’

Barrow looked at her for a moment and Rose widened her smile, fluttered her eyes a little more. She was rewarded with Barrow returning the smile. They always succumb to her in the end.

‘Are you going to keep me guessing, my lady, or would you like to tell me plainly what it is you want?’

Blinking in surprise at Barrow’s boldness, Rose dropped the pretence.

‘I want some cigarettes.’

‘I see, and this is something you are not normally allowed?’

‘Well, we should all have some vices don’t you think?’

‘Some peoples vices might get other people removed with no reference.’

Rose stared at Barrow, a smirk played at his blush red lips. He made her feel nervous, speaking plainly as he did, and yet she had asked hadn’t she. He clearly played the game well.

‘I am not normally allowed them, Barrow. Are you going to tell on me?’ She pouted playfully.

Thomas shook his head, ‘No, Lady Rose, of course not.’ He put his hand into his pocket and pulled out a carton of cigarettes. ‘I have these; I can get you more if you want them.’

‘Oh you absolute star!’ Rose took the packet offered to her, beaming.

‘If I may offer you a piece of advice, don’t smoke in the house. The windows are hard to open and the smell lingers. Go for a walk instead.’

‘Speaking from experience?’

‘Speaking as one who got caught by my own father.’

‘Oh dear, was he strict?’ A thought occurs to Rose and she asks in a hushed tone, ‘Did he beat you?’

A snort was Barrow’s response, ‘Not for that, my Lady. Be sure to let me know when you run out.’

‘Thank you, Barrow. Our little secret,’ she tapped her nose to emphasise the point.

Rose skipped back to her room, ignored Thomas’ advice and smoked by the window she managed to open a crack. She sprayed a little perfume and wafted her day hat around to spread the scent around the room. She was glad to have found someone who knew how things should be done. She would wrap him round her finger and he could become very useful when certain suitors came knocking. She rang the bell for Mabel and prepared a talk about the ‘hair’ situation. These things could be tricky but she was sure she could word it in such a way that Mabel wouldn’t be offended.

...

Frustrated wasn’t the word, except he didn’t know of another word that adequately expressed how he was feeling. The day had started badly, gotten worse very quickly, and had become impossible. If it hadn’t been happening to him, he would have laughed. He didn’t feel like laughing. Carson had spent the day giving him and Alfred extra jobs. There would be some large dinner parties in the future and Carson didn’t want to fall behind with the cleaning.

Jimmy tried his best to get away to find Barrow, but Alfred was having none of it.

‘Come on, Alfred, just for a few minutes, I really need to find Barrow.’

‘Why are you so desperate to find him all of a sudden?’ Alfred’s eyes watched him carefully.

‘Oh, give over, Alfred. I’ve made a mistake and I need his help, that’s all.’

‘Why not tell Mr Carson? Ask him for help?’

‘If I ask Carson I’ll be skinned alive, I need Barrow so Carson won’t find out.’

‘Oh.’

‘Oh, indeed.’

‘Well, go look for him if you like, but I’ll not cover for you, I don’t need to be in Mr Carson’s black books.’

Taking the opportunity, while he had it Jimmy left only to walk slap bang into Carson, who’d come to get them for Lady Rose’s arrival. Carson praised him for remembering, much to Alfred’s annoyance. It was then that he saw Barrow, making his way with the others. He tried desperately to catch his eye, but failed. At first, he thought it was because others were around, but then Jimmy started to wonder if Barrow wasn’t avoiding him all together. As soon as Rose was inside, he and Alfred had to take Rose’s luggage upstairs, so he missed his chance to seize Barrow after.

Of course, then there was dinner and Carson did not let up for a moment. Once the clearing was done, they sat for their own dinner. There was no chance to speak privately to Thomas here, but he seemed more himself. Jimmy noticed Barrow never really engaged him in front of others, only really talked to him when they were alone. Jimmy had guessed that this was shame on Barrow’s behalf; he probably didn’t want people getting the wrong idea, which was fine by him to be honest.

After dinner, Barrow was summoned upstairs and Jimmy lingered in the servant’s hall, hoping to see Barrow come back. Time dragged on and Carson insisted that he went to bed. Arguing would not endear him to Carson, so he just did as he was told. Once in his room he prepared for bed, changed and kept the door open a crack to see when Barrow got back. Unfortunately, Barrow and Carson arrived at the same time and after a brief conversation together; they went into their separate rooms.

He had a choice, either, go in to speak to Barrow now and risk Carson seeing or wait until morning a pray he got a private moment. Jimmy sat on his bed and considered he could also wait until Carson was settled, less risk of being overheard. To be honest he was amazed that no one had spotted the clock was broken so far.

He chose to wait, and boy, did those minutes drag.

At no point did Jimmy’s brain lift up a flag to alert him that this was not a bright idea.

The door opened a crack and Jimmy listened for movement, after hearing none, he moved into the hallway and closed his door behind him. He crept along to Thomas’ door, checked the corridor, and slowly turned the handle. It opened quietly and he snuck inside. Barrow was already asleep. Jimmy was amazed that anyone could fall asleep so quickly. All Barrow’s clothes were meticulously arranged for the morning, which Jimmy should have expected for one who was a valet.

The plan was to wake Barrow, so Jimmy stepped quietly to the bed. Thomas’ usually pristine hair was loose and hanging across his forehead. It was odd to see him in such a relaxed way, unlike the usually stiff and proper way he was usually dressed. Jimmy bent over, and reached out to pat Barrow. Except, instead he brushed the hair out of Thomas’ eyes and then rested his hand on Barrow’s shoulder. That sense of discomfort arose in Jimmy as he felt Thomas’ warmth beneath his hand. Something then started to whisper in the back of his mind, but the radiating heat was clouding his thoughts. Jimmy leant in closer to whisper Barrow’s name but found himself wondering just exactly, what it would feel like to kiss him. So he did, ever so gently, so softly. He could smell the coal tar soap Barrow had washed with and felt the slight growth of stubble on his face. Jimmy felt the heat go to his head and was overcome by it. It frightened him.

He let go of Barrow, suddenly changing his mind in a moment of panic, it could all wait until morning. He backed away and headed to the door. He reached for the handle and was inches away from grasping it, when the handle turned all by itself. Horror shot through him, he instinctively ducked behind the opening door.

‘Thomas... Thomas?’ there was no mistaking Carson’s rumbling voice. Barrow stirred and sat up.

Jimmy placed his finger on his lips indicating that Thomas should be quiet. Barrow, to his credit, recovered instantly from the shock and looked directly at Carson.

‘Mr Carson, what is it?’

‘Are you all right, Barrow, you look like you’ve seen a ghost?’

‘Well, I did wake up to see you, Mr Carson.’

‘Very witty. I forgot to tell you that I have to leave early in the morning so you’ll have to serve his Lordship, and attend to my duties until I return. I apologise for forgetting this evening.’

‘That’s quite all right, Mr Carson, we’re all human. Even you apparently.’

‘Sorry to have disturbed you, Thomas. Goodnight.’

‘Goodnight, Mr Carson.’

The moment the door shut Barrow’s face changed and mirrored the ‘finger on lips’ shushing signal. Jimmy didn’t like the change; he’d gone from normal to furious in seconds. Jimmy stayed quiet and stood where he was. Barrow got up and walked over to the door, which he opened, listened until he heard Carson’s door shut. Barrow closed the door and turned on Jimmy.

‘Jimmy, you’d better have a bloody good reason for being in here.’


	3. Chapter 3

‘Jimmy, you’d better have a bloody good reason for being in here,’ Barrow was furious despite the whispered tone.  
  
‘I do, I swear it.’  
  
‘You do realise if Carson comes back in here you are done, no job, no reference.’  
  
Jimmy looked at Barrow; no, he hadn’t considered that, not for a moment. He felt like a fool. As he stood there feeling foolish, he realised that Barrow’s first thought had been for him. Jimmy’s thoughts had only been for himself.  
  
‘It would be the same for you too, Mr Barrow.’  
  
Barrow levelled a look at him, ‘I’m well aware of that, Jimmy.’  
  
Jimmy looked away, feeling shame bubbling up from within, he’d nearly cost them everything. There would be no way Carson would’ve believed them with him hiding behind the door. He felt the sting of tears, but forced them away.  
  
‘Jimmy?’ Barrow’s tone of voice softened, but Jimmy was still trying to control his emotion. Barrow placed his hand on Jimmy’s shoulder and tried to catch his eye line.  
  
It seemed such a small and stupid thing to risk sneaking into Barrow’s room for, but he was here now. He spoke without looking up, ‘You said you’d always try and help me if you could?’  
  
‘Yes and I meant it.’  
  
‘I’ve done something.’ Jimmy lifted his head to watch Barrow’s reaction, which was to nod.  
  
‘Is it a girl? Because I want you to know that won’t make any difference, I’ll help you, Jimmy, I promise.’  
  
Barrow’s hand on his shoulder squeezed encouragingly and the sensation coursed through him like wildfire. At the same time, Jimmy tried to make sense of what Barrow said. What on earth was he talking about?  
  
‘What girl?’  
  
‘Isn’t that why you were so distracted this morning?’   
  
‘What? No, nothing like that, there’s no girl. Where would I find the time? Carson works us like pit ponies,’ Jimmy became a little indignant at the suggestion.  
  
‘Well, what exactly is it that has you sneaking into my room at this time of night?’   
  
That was a very good question. He’d been so thoughtless, but so determined to come and speak to Barrow. The kiss and the memory of Barrow’s soap scent flooded his mind uninvited, which set off tumult of uncomfortable feelings in his gut. What would Barrow say if he knew? What would Barrow do if he knew?  
  
It was only then that a small spark of hope started to ignite in Barrow’s eyes, as he started to come to the wrong conclusion. Feeling Barrow’s hand and seeing his expression, Jimmy felt a mixture of terror and excitement thrum through him in the darkened room. There was a moment. Something was happening and it terrified him that he couldn't control it. Barrow's eyes held his; the moment grew.  
  
‘I broke a clock,' he blurted.  
  
‘What?’ Barrow's expression changed to confusion.  
  
‘His Lordship’s clock on the Library mantle, I broke it, it won’t turn or keep time anymore.’  
  
‘And the only time you thought to come and speak to me about this was now?’  
  
‘Carson’s had me cleaning all bloody day. I thought you were avoiding me.’  
  
‘I wouldn’t avoid you, Jimmy, you know that.’ Barrow's eyes flicked away for a second.  
  
‘Sorry.’  
  
‘Don’t worry about the clock, I’ll tell Carson it needs servicing, the springs probably caught. I don't want you to worry; I will take care of it.’  
  
‘Thank you, Mr Barrow.’  
  
‘You’re welcome to come to me anytime, Jimmy.’ Barrow gives Jimmy’s shoulder one last squeeze and reluctantly lets him go. All of a sudden, Jimmy felt colder until he remembered the kiss again and then the heat flooded up into his face like a furnace.  
  
Jimmy nodded and went to open the door, but Thomas stopped him, he opened the door instead, checked the corridor, and then let Jimmy out. Jimmy got to his own door and went in, got into his bed and laid there not sleeping.   
  
Every time he shut his eyes all he saw was Barrow's porcelain skin contrasting with the red of his lips in the half light. What the hell was wrong with him? Had Barrow corrupted him in some way? He liked girls; he'd kissed plenty in the past. Jimmy turned over, robustly fluffing his pillow as if it were to blame. He buried his head further into the down and felt a couple of feathers sticking through. They scratched at his face while he tried to understand what was wrong with him. Why ever did he kiss Barrow? He pulled the blanket over his head, desperately tried to push the unpleasantness away and sleep. He failed on both counts.   
  
xx  
  
Barrow closed the door and stood, looking at it as though it would open any second. He considered the events and found he wasn’t sleepy in the slightest. There was a flutter in his chest that spoke to him; it was the very thing he tried to bury this afternoon. It wouldn’t be quiet. For a moment, he'd felt hope, only for it to be squashed a few seconds later. But in that moment... He had felt Jimmy tremble beneath his touch and he wanted nothing more than to hold him. He would have agreed to a great deal in that moment. Thankfully, Jimmy hadn't asked for a lot.   
  
The bed didn't look particularly inviting, but Thomas got into it anyway. He lay on his back thinking of how close they'd come to being dismissed. Jimmy seemed shocked at his anger; he clearly hadn't thought it through. Barrow sat up in bed. How long had Jimmy been in his room? It suddenly occurred to him that Jimmy had enough time to hide. He looked around for signs of disturbance but saw none. Barrow's darkest paranoid thoughts flashed through his mind. Jimmy wouldn't have come here to hurt him in some way after all this time, would he? No, he dismissed that thought; Jimmy had his chance to hurt him a long time ago. Still, he had lingered. Thomas smiled to himself; perhaps he was thinking about ‘that night’, it would be enough to give him pause for thought.  
  
Thomas allowed his mind to wander to the lovely dream he’d been having before Carson awoke him. Jimmy had kissed him back instead of threatening to punch him. This showed Thomas that he really needed to let go of the fantasy he held in his head. Jimmy was his friend, he’d accepted Barrow as he was, infliction included. He really should be grateful for that and move on. With that restful thought he settled back down into bed and slept the rest of the night.  
  
He awoke early, used the time to get ready and be ahead of everyone else. He’d have to work quickly if he was going to fix the clock. He fulfilled all of Carson’s duties as required of him and then when he went to have a quick smoke, and then realised he given them to Lady Rose. He had more in his room but no time to get them. He begged one off of the stable hand who just happened past the yard area. Not a satisfying smoke. He recalled when Jimmy had seen him in the morning, he went wide-eyed like a surprised doe, muttered a terse ‘Mr Barrow’ and fled, red faced. Thomas chuckled to himself, poor Jimmy was really embarrassed.  
  
‘What are you laughing at?’ Jimmy appeared from nowhere.  
  
‘Loitering around the back yard now, are we Jimmy?’ Nicely avoided, Thomas thought.  
  
Jimmy glowered and then seemed to remember that he needed Barrow. ‘Have you had a chance to look at that clock yet, Mr Barrow?’  
  
‘I asked his Lordship if I could remove it for cleaning, he said I could. I haven’t managed to assess it yet. I have Carson’s duties as well as my own. Don’t even have time to get my own bloody smokes.’  
  
‘Sorry, I don’t mean to be impatient, Mr Barrow.’  
  
‘But you’re desperate to know. I don’t mind, Jimmy, I’m just pressed this morning.’  
  
‘Is there anything I can do help lighten the load?’  
  
Thomas smiled, feeling touched that Jimmy offered. ‘No, I’ll be all right, I’ll get to it as soon as lunch is done, promise.’  
  
‘What will happen if the clock is broken?’  
  
‘The worst is that the spring will need to be replaced, but I am sure it’s just a matter of cleaning and oiling.’  
  
‘How sure are you?’  
  
Thomas smiled at Jimmy, ‘I am very sure. Put it out of your thoughts, Jimmy.’  
  
Jimmy nodded. ‘I’ll be around if you change your mind and need help.’  
  
‘Actually, Jimmy, there is something you could do for me.’  
  
‘Name it.’  
  
Thomas smirked a little as he said it, he couldn’t help it, ‘Do you think you could grab my cigarettes from my room? They’re in the top draw. Think you can find them?’  
  
The look he received from Jimmy was withering; it was quite nice having the shoe on the other foot, even just for a day.  
  
Jimmy said, ‘Yes, Mr Barrow,’ and left.  
  
Thomas was still smiling to himself when Bates walked past. Bates did a double take and reversed his steps; he looked at Barrow for a moment.  
  
‘What?’ Just because they had a truce didn’t mean Barrow disliked him any less and he got the impression that was exactly how Bates felt too.  
  
‘Nothing.’  
  
‘You took time to gawp for nothing?’  
  
‘It’s just that happiness suits you.’  
  
Thomas blinked at him.  
  
‘Really, you look a different man, Thomas.’  
  
Barrow watched him limp off slowly unable to think of anything to say in response, witty or otherwise. He snorted, shook his head, and stamped on his cigarette. He dismissed what Bates said out of hand, but it stayed with him all day.  
  
xx  
  
John had reconsidered rushing up to Downton Abbey and had instead taken a room at the local tavern. Rushing into things had got him into some serious trouble in the past, so a pint and a bed seemed a sensible option. Before the war he’d been awfully prissy about where he slept, now, as long as there was a roof and food, he was made up. He’d joined as an officer, an engineer and had been wounded towards the latter part of the war. Like most, he didn’t like to speak of it. They were dark times and he’d thought the end of times too. He felt that nightmare was best left behind him. Didn’t they all.  
  
The night had been pleasant enough, food plain but wholesome. John was now ready to face Downton Abbey and whatever mysteries it had in store for him. He was intrigued, he admitted that to himself, but he was also terrified it would be something awful like an unpaid debt. He had decided to walk, it was a few miles, and it would give him time to enjoy the countryside. The air if nothing else would do him the world of good. Luckily, he managed to grab a lift with a cart and sat on the back. He was thrown around but he didn’t mind.  
  
Once he arrived at Downton, he took a moment to take in the place. It was huge. Beautiful, but lonely looking sitting all on its own. He missed the higgledy piggledy architecture of London, the bustle of the streets. It was so quiet here. He walked down to the front door and knocked. It occurred to him they might not answer, what would he do then? Come back later? The thought became moot when the door was answered by a dark haired butler, who just stared at him.  
  
‘Hello.’ When John spoke it seemed to snap the other man out of his silence.  
  
‘Sorry. Can I help you, Sir?’ The butler recovered well, but there was something in his look that made John think he knew him, or at least, recognised him.  
  
‘Yes, I hoped to speak with the Earl of Grantham, if at all possible?’  
  
‘Is he expecting you?’  
  
‘No, alas I failed to make an appointment, but hoped he’d see me anyway.’  
  
The butler stood to the side to allow John into the entryway of the house, which would’ve been amazing if John wasn’t so nervous.  
  
‘If you’d like to follow me, Sir.’  
  
John duly followed the butler into another beautiful room.  
  
'I wonder, can I ask how I should address the Earl?'  
  
'Lord Grantham.'  
  
'Thank you.'  
  
‘I will go and inform his Lordship you are here Mister...?’  
  
‘Crawley, John Crawley.'  
  
'Pardon?' The butler heard him fine, John was sure of it. The man’s blue eyes studied him and John thought he saw that recognition again.  
  
'John Crawley.'  
  
The butler hesitated, then turned on his heels and walked out of the room nevertheless. About twenty seconds later he heard a raised voice and John realised he’d made a terrible error in judgement. He heard Grantham addressing his butler and he did not sound pleased.  
  
‘I do not care what you have to say, Barrow, there’s no excuse for it.’  
  
The Earl strode into the room, smiling at John, which unsettled him somewhat considering the shouting.   
  
'I am Lord Grantham; you wished to speak to me? Forgive my butler not asking your name, Mister?'  
  
'That's rather odd, he asked me twice,' John replied and stepped forward holding out his hand, 'I am John Crawley.'  
  
Lord Grantham stared at him and then shut his eyes for a moment. When he opened them John would have sworn that Grantham looked at him with pain.  
  
'I apologise for the mistake. I am confused, however, have you spoken to Mr Murray?'  
  
'Who is Mr Murray?'  
  
Grantham's eyes narrowed, 'I think we should start from the beginning. Why are you here?'  
  
'My father, that is my step-father, died recently and I found in his effects several envelopes addressed to me. There were no letters inside, but I found your name on some charred remnants in the fireplace. Basically, I came all this way to find out if the two were connected.'  
  
'They are, but I cannot explain why just now, are you staying nearby?' John felt a ripple of excitement.  
  
'Yes, Ripon.'  
  
'Then I would ask you to stay a few extra days and allow me to send for you.'  
  
'I am staying at the King's Arms, but is it not simple enough to explain.'  
  
'No, unfortunately not. Please give your details to Thomas on the way out. And I would ask that you please wait for me to contact you.'  
  
John shook Lord Grantham's hand and waited to be escorted out of the room. Grantham left him with the butler and walked away. John looked at the butler, who seemed to be watching him like a hawk.   
  
'You know what's going on here don't you? That's why you didn't give my name.'  
  
'I really couldn’t comment sir'.  
  
'But you could if you wanted to, couldn’t you. '   
  
‘As I said, I really couldn’t comment.’  
  
‘I'll be at the King's Arms in Ripon, should you or Lord Grantham need to find me.' John looked at the hand the butler was using to indicate the exit. ‘War wound?’  
  
The butler looked surprised and it seemed to cut through his chilly countenance a little. ‘Yes,’ was the reply.  
  
‘I have my own individual set of those.’  
  
The butler winced slightly, 'I'm sorry to hear that, Sir.'  
  
'Not sorry enough to tell me what's going on though?' John smiled as he said it, not serious for a second.  
  
The butlers upper lip twitched, amused at what John had said. 'No, not that sorry, Sir.'  
  
'You're loyal. Thank you er... Barrow was it? Sorry I'm terrible with names.'  
  
Barrow looked at him, still struggling to hold the smirk back, 'Yes, Sir, it's Barrow.'  
  
John left with his own smirk, teasing the butler had amused him. He had no outlet for the frustration he felt at coming away even more intrigued. So, he had satisfied himself with pushing the butler's buttons. Perhaps he shouldn't have, Barrow had a dashing set of eyes.  
  
Xx  
  
The telephone conversation with Murray only muddied the waters further, as far as Robert was concerned. Apparently, this stepfather Mayhew had reported his step son dead in the war. This was clearly a lie seeing as the stepson was actually alive. God knows what would possess a man to pretend his stepson was dead, he didn’t know, but he was sure he found it abhorrent. Murray had outlined what should be said to John Crawley, but would have preferred to have dealt with him, rather than Lord Grantham. The truth was so would Grantham. Dealing with Matthew's death was difficult enough without this other nonsense to contend. Murray had suggested he travel down and for a few seconds Grantham had considered it, but it really wasn't fair, so he declined the offer.   
  
The necessity of continuing to track the bloodline was cold, he knew that, but after everything life had taught him, fairness or rightness had little to do with what actually happened. Patrick should not have died, Matthew should not have died, Sybil should not have died, and his son should not have died, but they all did. He would do everything to ensure that his grandson would survive, but he could not ignore the consequences of his death too. It was important, however, at this point to keep it all away from Mary’s ears. The last thing he wanted was for her to be troubled by it; she had enough to deal with. He knew he did not want to think of it, after all, hadn’t Matthew become like his own son. Really, it broke his heart.  
  
First things first, he needed to get through the evening without too many questions. He also needed to speak to Thomas. He knew now that Thomas had deliberately not announced Crawley's name in front of the rest of the family, including Mary. Why? Was it because Thomas thought it would upset Mary or did he know something further? Robert stood, knowing it would be better to go and speak to Thomas, rather than guess.  
  
'Where are you off to, Robert?'  
  
'I'll be back momentarily, Cora.'  
  
She frowned, 'But we've only just had dinner, surely whatever it is can wait.'  
  
'It won't take a moment I promise.'  
  
Cora frowned further and feeling a little too much like he was being assessed Robert escaped. He made his way down to the servant’s hall, completely forgetting that they would be sitting down to their own dinner. They all stood when he appeared.  
  
'Please don't let me disturb you, but I wondered if I might have a quick word with Thomas.'  
  
The look Carson threw at Thomas was scathing. Robert knew that cutting Carson out of the conversation would be taken as a slight, but there was the smallest of chances he might hint to Mary what was happening. No, he would rather keep it between him and Barrow for now. Barrow stood and walked through to the corridor where Robert stood.  
  
'Is there somewhere private we can talk?'  
  
'Well, there's Mr Carson's parlour, I'm sure he won't mind if we go in there.' Thomas led him to the room and then asked, 'Is this about Mr Crawley?'  
  
'Yes, it is. I wanted to ask you why you lied and said you hadn't asked for Mr Crawley's name when he says you did so twice?'  
  
'I felt my announcing Mr Crawley like that would upset those present in the room. I did not mean to show the gentleman any disrespect.'  
  
'I see and there was no more to it?'  
  
'No, my Lord.'  
  
'I was cross at the time, but I have thought about it and I can see your motivations were from a place of concern-'  
  
'Actually,' Thomas interrupted, 'there was something more to it.'  
  
'Oh?' Robert felt apprehensive; he had rather hoped Thomas did not know why Crawley was there at all.  
  
'I accidentally overheard the end of a conversation between you and Mr Murray and I believed you might prefer there to be no questions asked about Mr Crawley's presence at Downton. '  
  
Robert's fears were realised, 'I see and who have you told? I do not want Lady Mary hearing a half garbled version from Anna.' Grantham tried to keep his tone low but he was cross.  
  
Thomas looked perturbed, 'I haven't told a soul until now.'  
  
Robert felt a flutter of hope, 'You're sure?'  
  
'I swear it.'  
  
'Then I owe you thanks because you have indeed saved some heartache. In fact, come and see me after breakfast tomorrow, I will have an errand for you to run. If I can count on your discretion?' The look Thomas gave him said volumes, 'Sorry, of course I can.'  
  
'My word and my discretion is my profession, my Lord.'  
  
'Yes, quite right. I'll let you get back to your meal. Thank you, Thomas.'  
  
Thomas nodded, left to go back and take his seat at dinner. Robert heard the scraping of chairs again as he quickly walked past. He offended Thomas; he didn’t mean to question the man’s honour. Still, what was a concern was now a boon; he would be able to trust Thomas with delivering a note to Crawley. He knew Thomas would be discreet; he was after all, a man with secrets of his own.  
  
xx  
  
Jimmy’s stomach dove into his feet when Lord Grantham appeared at dinner and asked to speak to Thomas. Like everyone else at the table, he watched as Barrow got up and left the room.  He stared down into his plate, not seeing his food but wondering, fearing if the clock were the reason he was questioning Barrow. His appetite vanished but he ate a few more bites, pushing it around the plate more than anything else. Carson’s face was thunder and he was particularly sharp while Barrow’s place was empty. It went quiet at one point, when Lord Grantham’s voice became loud, clearly not happy about something. Jimmy felt sick. What if Barrow was receiving a reprimand because of something he’d done? The guilt did not help the nausea. Thomas repeatedly put himself before Jimmy and if he was willing to take a beating for him, then what else would he do?  
  
‘Deep in thought there, Jimmy.’ Bates said it like a statement, but it was a very polite inquiry that gave Jimmy the chance to answer or ignore.  
  
‘Yes, Mr Bates.’ He frowned and tried to think of something trivial to say, but couldn’t.  
  
Bates studied him for a moment and then said, ‘I’ll be about after dinner, his Lordship won’t go up for a while yet.’ Another statement.  
  
Lord Grantham’s voice travelled over the dinner conversation and everyone started to stand, but he hurried off, leaving Barrow to enter and sit back at his place alone. Despite the many sets of eyes watching him, Barrow picked up his knife and fork and continued to eat. If something were bothering him, it would not show on the mask he wore now.  
  
‘Everything all right, Thomas?’ Mrs Hughes asked.  
  
‘Yes, Mrs Hughes.’  
  
Carson stood. ‘When you’ve finished your meal, Mr Barrow, might I ask you to join me in my parlour for a conversation?’ Another statement, but that was more because Carson didn’t expect an argument, just obedience. He left the table, taking his cloud with him. Not everyone else was as subtle.  
  
‘What did his Lordship want?’ Alfred asked.  
  
‘He wanted to know how I took my tea, Alfred.’   
  
Mrs Hughes and Bates chuckled, and Alfred, realising he was the butt of a joke said, ‘I was only asking.’  
  
‘If Lord Grantham wanted everyone to know his business he would have spoke to Mr Barrow in here, Alfred. Now, if you’re done, go and finish your duties.’ Mrs Hughes preferred direct orders.  
  
Jimmy knew there was little point in trying to attract Barrow’s attention. He’d battened down the hatches and when was like that he tended to avoid conversation of any kind. Jimmy envied Barrow’s self control, especially when he sat here all nerves. As it was, Barrow did not rush it speak to Mr Carson, but they were never left alone together, so Jimmy couldn’t ask anything. All sorts of dreadful scenarios played out in his head, each worse than the last.   
  
Eventually, Barrow left and Bates sat down with a cup of tea, which he then pushed towards Jimmy. Jimmy looked at it with confusion.  
  
‘I thought you could use a cup.’ Bates smiled reassuringly.  
  
Jimmy picked up the cup, sipped and then coughed; he looked at Bates with no small amount of surprise.  
  
‘Oh, I forgot to mention, it’s Irish tea.’ Amused, Bates sat back in his chair.  
  
Jimmy sipped again, this time prepared for the burn of whiskey. Again Bates asked him nothing, just sat quietly.  
  
‘I think I might’ve gotten Mr Barrow in trouble.’  
  
‘Are you sure Mr Barrow hasn’t got himself into trouble, he’s pretty good at it?'  
  
‘I over  wound a clock.’  
  
‘What does that have to do with Mr Barrow?’  
  
‘I asked him for help and now I’m worried he’s taking the blame for me.’  
  
‘Why would he do that?’  
  
Jimmy clammed up, he really didn’t want to explain that part so just shrugged his shoulders.  
  
Bates leaned forward and rested his elbows on the table, his voice dropped slightly, ‘Come now, Jimmy, we both know he goes out of his way for you.’  
  
Jimmy’s eyes widened, ‘What do you mean?’  
  
‘He favours you a great deal.’  
  
‘We’re friends, if that’s what you mean.’  
  
‘I’ve seen Thomas take your side in almost everything since you’ve arrived.’  
  
‘Well, I wouldn’t know about that would I?’  
  
‘Maybe not, but I see both sides, Jimmy.’  
  
‘What do you mean by that?’  
  
‘I don’t think there’s much Thomas wouldn’t do, as far as you’re concerned.’  
  
‘Look here, Mr Bates, if you’re suggesting-’  
  
‘I’m not suggesting anything. I am saying that Thomas is not what you think he is.’  
  
‘What is he then?’  
  
‘An isolated young man in desperate need of a good friend.’  
  
‘I am his friend.’  
  
‘Then you are aware that his...’ Bates paused looking for the right word, ‘affection for you clouds his judgement.’  
  
‘And just how would you know if that were the case?’  
  
‘I heard him tell Mr Carson that he over wound the clock.’  
  
Jimmy was dumbstruck.  
  
‘Drink some tea, Jimmy,’ Bates instructed.  
  
‘Why did he do that and not tell me?’  
  
‘There is a word for it, Jimmy, but if you don't know what it is, I’ll not say it aloud.’  
  
‘What do you mean?’   
  
Bates looked at him considering the words he could say, he opened his mouth to say them, but stopped as Barrow walked in. When he did speak, Jimmy was sure he changed what he was going to say. ‘The Kitchen maids have gone to bed, you’ll have to wash that cup up yourself.’  
  
‘Yes, Mr Bates.’  
  
Jimmy sipped the tea and watched Barrow sort through the last of the silverware to go away into Mr Carson’s cupboard. He polished the odd smear and placed them back on the tray. It was a job he should’ve asked Jimmy to do.  
  
‘Do you want me to do that?’  
  
Barrow smiled at him, compounding the guilt he already felt. ‘It’s all right, Jimmy, I don’t mind.’  
  
‘Come along now, James, off to bed with you.’ Carson hovered around the doorway until Jimmy downed his tea. He did as Bates told him, cleaned the cup and set it aside. The whiskey made him feel light headed and he wondered why Bates had done that, not being ungrateful of course. Once he got to his room, he realised he’d forgotten his jacket and had to double back. He met Barrow in the corridor, he was holding Jimmy’s jacket.   
  
Jimmy stood feeling heady and realised he’d not said thank you to Barrow or asked about the clock.  
  
‘You’re welcome,’ Barrow said lightly.  
  
‘Sorry, Mr Barrow, thank you.’  
  
‘I wasn’t chastising you.’  
  
‘I know.’  
  
Barrow nodded and headed to his room, leaving Jimmy standing alone. He stood for a moment and then walked to Barrow’s open door. He’d already taken off his tie and jacket. He looked less formal, less confined. Barrow hadn’t noticed him yet and was continuing to prepare for the morning. He ran a hand through his hair, messing the usually fixed style. Whenever the hair flopped forward he would flick it back, there was something about the way it fell that drew Jimmy’s mind back to last night. Jimmy fought the compulsion to reach out and brush it out of his eyes.  
  
‘Jimmy?’ Barrow dropped the clothes he held onto the chair beside him.  
  
'I wanted to ask about the clock, you didn't mention anything.'  
  
'Yes, it's fine.'  
  
'Mr Carson wasn't upset?'  
  
'Well, he moaned but he has to have something to complain about.'  
  
'Good, I'm glad to hear it.' But Jimmy wasn't glad and didn't know how to ask if Barrow had taken the blame for him.  
  
'Was there something else?'  
  
'Only that I'm grateful to you, Mr Barrow, and if you should need anything to please ask me.'  
  
Barrow paused and studied him, 'Thank you, Jimmy, that's good to know.' He didn't smile.  
  
Jimmy put his hand out for Barrow to shake; Barrow gave him a quizzical look, but took Jimmy’s hand and shook it. Jimmy then pulled Barrow into an awkward hug, with a few well placed manly pats. It was a mistake to try to be friendly like that, he realised far too late. The warmth and scent of Barrow was overwhelming, but that was nothing compared to the heightened awareness of their touching. They broke apart and Jimmy knew he needed to leave.  
  
'I'll say goodnight then.'  
  
'Goodnight, Jimmy.'

It honestly felt like he were going mad; when he was away from Barrow, he was all he thought of and then the moment Jimmy was near him, he just wanted to run. Tomorrow he decided would be a day of calm, where he would just concentrate on his job, as he should be.

xx

It wasn’t any of his business and he had no right to get involved. He was sure no good could come of it. He’d known men like it in the past, some of them good and some downright nasty. It was only the good ones that seemed to be caught though, beaten, put in jail and ruined. He did not want to see that happen to either man. He could try to talk to them he supposed, but one was too clueless to understand, the other too damaged to hear any sense from him. No, he would watch, step in if he had to for their own sakes. A pity really, he saw no harm in it. Love was love after all.  



End file.
